


Dissonant Tune in Fantastical Utopia

by Kurz



Category: Touhou Project
Genre: Horror, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2019-09-29 10:50:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17202104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kurz/pseuds/Kurz
Summary: In 1946, the war still ravages the Asian continent. During a ambitious assault by allied forces, a lone marine decides to escape, following the lead of a mysterious elegant woman. He ends up in a paradise in the mountains, well hidden from humanity.It was a trap.Note: Small change of titles made. Formely known as "Always Faithful".





	1. Olympic

The Marine woke up facing against a wall of darkness. Panic took over his mind. Did he become blind? His thoughts were too jumbled around for him to answer his own question. Amidst the dark he made an effort to get himself on his feet, but something kept him motionless. Even more confused, he checked to see if he could still feel his limbs. Thankfully he could. Relief calmed him down for a moment. One less problem to care about. 

There was something above pinning him against the ground, he couldn't breathe or see. Under the sound of his own heavy breath, he moved his left arm around in the hopes of freeing it. After a few moments, his arm was outside his entrapment. He did the same with his right arm, only this time, once he freed it, a soft but viscous material touched his fingertips. Ignoring it, the Marine made an effort to remove whatever was pressing him against the ground. A feeling of a hundred ants crawling under his skin made him weep in pain as he tried. Finally, he managed to lift the object off his body,the sunlight blinding him for a moment. He moved his head to the side to know what was trapping him, the discovery made him freeze in horror. 

It was a corpse. His shirt was a mess of colors. The greenish tones of the fabric turned to a deep red. It was ripped with bullet holes. His eyes expressed a feeling of confusion mixed with pain. It made the Marine turn his back in disgust. 

The trench corridor welcomed him with a dirty row of dead soldiers and civilians lying in the tight space. Heads blown wide open, gibs decorating the ground and walls, eyes dangling by their cord dangling down their face, knives jammed against ribs and throats. A few bodies even had a whole rifle muzzle impaling their chests. The awful stench had a mixture of sweat, blood and dirt. The Marine felt like vomiting, his vision started to become blurry, thoughts engulfing one another in panic. His confused mind could only think of one thing: Escape. 

Without any other way to get out of that trench, he started to walk down that narrow corridor, hoping to find along the walls, a segment short enough for his weak body to boost himself up. With slow, dragging steps, he pushed onwards. His lungs filled with the scent of the blood of all the dead as he made his way through the confined space. Japanese, Americans, civilians, soldiers, children. It made him lose his footing, but he had to push on. He started to pay attention to the sounds above. In the distance, an air raid siren depressingly echoed its cries, like a mother warning her children of danger. Someone running while whispering unintelligible words. An occasional sound of a bullet being shot. A Japanese Zero airplane flew over him, being chased by an allied fighter plane, their engine sounds engulfing everything in the vicinity as they chased each other. He could only imagine how apocalyptic the surface looked. 

After a few minutes wandering through those tight corridors, a flaw in the trench wall revealed itself a few meters from him. He found a bit of strength and boosted himself over the wall. Getting topside, the Marine stopped for a bit to get his thoughts in order. Disjointed memories came to him. The words of a rugged sounding man echoed in his head, with statements like “Take the main islands... heavy resistance” and the sound of sea waves hitting against the wooden surface of the boat he was in, hitting elbows and shoulders with his fellow marines, each holding their most precious M1 Garands and Thompsons as if they were their own child. Most of them were young. Too young.

Being welcomed back by a melting sensation on his head, the Sun’s burning rays brought the Marine back to reality. He took a good look at his surroundings. He was in a street,or what was left of it, as piles upon piles of rubble decorated the once-was walkway. The houses were full of holes, their eastern architecture violated by the war. A few Japanese civilians and American soldiers lied amongst the rubble and dirt forming a trail, while water flowing from broken sewage pipes underneath the street mixed with the blood pools the bodies left. Down the street, the tail of a plane arced over the scene, the nose had dived deep down a house. The monochromatic imagery made by the dust only made the Marine wish he could get out of there as quick as possible. He stood, grabbed a helmet from one of the dead American marines, and advanced. 

He didn’t know where to go, or what to do. Where did he want to escape to? This place was like a maze. Maybe he could run to a mountain and stay there for a few days, but how? He needed to get out of there. On another street, he witnessed another grim landmark caused by the aftermath of the war. A young dead girl, pinned down to the ground by another dead marine. Her sailor uniform was ripped apart, while the marine was full of holes in his back. An uncooked grenade lied next to them. The Marine moved along, with his eyes closed. 

Turning into another corner, the Marine stopped for a while. He felt heavy, so he decided to get rid of the bag on his back. Before discarding it, he took a look at it’s contents inside. A lighter. That could be useful. He also picked up his canteen and drank a bit. He felt better for an instant. Looking around,he focused on a broken mirror on the ground. Staring at it, he saw what a mess he was. His young face turned grey, only his vacant eyes stood out, his clothes faded from green to brown and grey. The USMC symbol on his breast pocket was faded out, his shirt missing a few buttons. He also noticed that the satchels on his hip were full of holes and unusable. With a sigh, he ditched them on the floor. As he moved his head upwards, she appeared. 

In the middle of the street, a figure stood among the death and destruction with a virtuous and umpreocupied aura surrounding her. A woman, wearing a stylish purple dress and donning a white cap on her beautiful golden head of hair strolled around the dead bodies rotting on the dirt road. The frills on her expertly sewen dress dragged around the rubble and the faces of pain on the floor, while her steps with her red high heels moved in impossibly light and elegant movements, like as if she was consciously mocking all of humanity’s knowledge about gravity. It looked like she was floating, a sign of superiority. In her gloved hands, a parasol protected her against the Sun. 

The Marine, in wonder, took a glance at her. Her face had all the perfect measurements and features, like a delicate porcelain doll crafted with mastery. Her yellow hair would elegantly fall on her eyes, hiding her stare. It haunted him how uncanny, yet beautiful, that woman looked. Like a light in the middle of darkness, she stood out among that desolated and death-ridden landscape, her colorful presentation acting in a high contrast against the grayish and depressive tones the Japanese town showed to him until now. 

She disappeared behind a still-standing wall. 

He got up and ran to the junction to see where she was going, but she was gone without a trace. In her place, a landscape of destroyed wood and metal adorned the street. Confused, he returned to his belongings. He decided on what to take: A combat knife, a first aid kit, a zippo lighter, and his canteen. Stuffing all these into his pockets, he carried on. 

No matter how far he travelled, he couldn't outrun the destruction. The smell of smoke from dying fires around the town were still strong, the cinders traveling in the air landing on his face and blouse. There wasn't anything alive in the place, no plants, no animals, no people. The land suffered so much during the war, it gave up on living. Hope was lost. 

After avoiding some dead bodies and twisted metal, the Marine found himself in the front of what appeared to be a religious shrine, on fire. He was familiar with it, there was a similar shrine in Okinawa. A faint curiosity to see if anything was still standing during the aftermath formed within him. He took a peek inside, and something caught him by surprise. 

Above the entrance's gate and the small stairs, there was a small yard, where that elegant woman stood, next to the shrine. Her golden hair was still clean as the last time he saw her in the junction, no sign of cinders or dust or anything in it, like she was a projection realized on the battlefield. Her dress was also in a similar state, her uncanny beauty and mannerisms still untarnished by the leftovers of the war. 

She stared at the small shrine in flames, as if she was analyzing a painting, with such focus and concentration, listening to the bell at the entrance, still untouched and the wood creaking by the fire. Small fires and smoke dots would fall all around the entrance in a dance, but avoided landing on her. He stood at the entrance, trying to decipher what she was thinking. Then, she shook her head, in a negative movement. Apparently without noticing him, she went behind the shrine, disappearing in the shadows. The Marine blinked his eyes in disbelief. She seemed unnatural, like she didn't belong in that place, but in some random fantasy book. That was the second time he crossed paths with that figure. He got out of there. 

It didn't take long before they crossed paths once again, this time, she stopped by a house, intact from war as if it was an illusion. She went inside it. He couldn't believe how that house was still intact and unfazed, since everything in the vicinity was rundown and broken. It stuck out like a sore thumb. 

He approached the small gate of the house. It was unlocked. An otherworldly rush of air coming from inside the house passed through his skin, as he opened the slide door. 

Everything was in a perfect state, the windows being left open, leaving a delicate veil of sunlight to illuminate the whole living room, the smoke of aromatic candles floating from the small table in the middle of the room. Something on the wall in front of the Marine stood out. A painting, made in wood, showed a green, lively forest, where young-looking girls, some with wings on their backs, were depicted flying around, playing, while on the ground a human-like figure with 9 fox-like tails was shown crouching with her arms open, greeting an equally weird human-like child, with cat ears on her scalp. A familiar woman dressed in purple with a parasol hiding her face stayed next to the fox-woman. While the Marine stared at it, a wooden slide door opened, letting a breeze of hot air travel through the corridor next to him. Feeling like a trespasser invading holy ground, he wiped the sweat on his forehead and walked down the corridor, with the wind whistling through the door inviting him to investigate, and the sounds of wood creaking under his boot following along. 

As the Marine pushed the door to the side, a small backyard was revealed. There was a small swing quietly moving with the wind, along with a flowerbed on the opposite side against the walls of the house. In the middle, a mattress was left open on the grass with a bunch of items neatly placed on it. He could have sworn there was a child laughing behind him, along the metallic and rustic sound of the swing moving with the wind. He was left confused, as who would organize a picnic during such times. 

At the limits of the backyard, the foot of a hill stood, with some trees hanging from their roots on that inclined hillside in a clumsy manner. A trail carved on the dirt showed itself between two trees. 

Going to the mountains and staying there until the dust settled was a good idea, or at least the best possible idea at the moment. The Marine couldn’t shake the feeling that something was inside that house, watching him taking the next step. He looked back to the house just to make his paranoid side more relieved. Nothing. He sighed and shook his head. His mind was coming back, the haziness and confusion wearing off. 

Wishing to get out of that place once and for all, he marched onto the trail, paying attention for any surprises Tojo could have left for him. Although cautious and a bit scared, a glimmer of hope rose in him. 

Anything was better than that horrible place. 


	2. Majestic

The trail continued far off from the town where the Marine woke up in. It never seemed to end, while it presented a constant set of challenges for him. Sharp turns, rope bridges on the verge of disintegrating at that point. Large boulders overlooked the mountain trail in a menacing way. It was like it was testing the Marine’s patience. The trail seemed old, forgotten, insignificant. Even the wind howled in indifference as it passed by the mountain trail. 

Finally, the old trail ended, the Marine found himself in a forest with its secular trees standing tall above him, the foliage crawling in their roots as if they were their subordinates. Flowers, beautiful as always, neatly ornamented the path in front of the Marine, the dirt appearing to be virgin of any human contact. His gaze grinded through that dazzling environment, but he couldn’t find that elegantly dressed woman anywhere. She came and gone. He was afraid that maybe she took a different route than he took or if she even went to that place. 

Walking through the path the flowers indicated, his thoughts changed. From fear, it became a feeling of security. From oddness, to comfort. From unfamiliarity to a strange sense of nostalgia. He couldn’t explain why. As he walked through those golden sunrays which escaped through the treetops, he felt safe, at home. All of his problems went away, his mind went blank for a second. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment. 

A gut-wrenching scream echoed through the warm-colored woodland. 

The Marine stopped dead in his tracks. He instantly kneeled down, scanning his surroundings to know its source. All the memories he fantasized were gone. In its place, alarm. Having a good idea where the scream came from, the Marine advanced with caution, barely being able to breathe, combat knife in hand. 

The Sun started to set, its gold veil on the woods became a crimson orange. The Marine kept walking on the same trail, trying to identify the source of that horrifying scream. Flocks of birds darted through the red skies, finding shelter for the night. The forest’s silence was taken over by the birds’ songs. 

Every step the Marine would take was a heavy one, filled with fear and uncertainty. Any sound out of the ordinary made him stop and post himself in an apprehensive stance, waiting for whatever caused the scream to jump at him, and end his life right there, nothing different from his time back in Okinawa. Same fear, different day. The forest seemed less friendly every second, the beautiful trees and their vivid branches becoming more like slender fingers looking down on him, ready to grab the Marine and squish him like a worm. 

After almost an hour of careful advancements through the dirt, he finally found the source of the scream. Resting against a single tree in the middle of a clearing, a dead Allied soldier sat, with his only eye left fixed in the nothingness. 

The Marine approached the body, analyzing the area to know if it was safe. The right side of its face was completely inexistent, only flesh and some parts of the bone were left, while the blood was still flowing down its face. It didn’t seem like it was blown off or anything as he already expected: bite marks were carved deeply on the skin of the dead soldier. There was a Colt M1911A1 pistol resting in the man’s right hand with 7 bullets left, which the Marine took for himself. A bloody knife laid on the ground next to the pistol. He noticed the left hand was missing, it seemed to have been a clean cut, the creamy color of the bone showing, the hole still spilling blood. Looking around, he found the severed hand a few meters away from where the body rested. He couldn’t make sense of it, why would the soldier cut off his hand? The Marine shaked his head in confusion, and came back. 

Nature, as always, never showed disapproval or endorsement. It stayed neutral, never losing its grace. The birds kept singing, the wind continued to blow through the leaves; the sunset still illuminated the clearing, leaving some if its now weak rays shining through the treetop, coating the rotting corpse in its glow. The scene was surreal, such a beautiful landscape punctuated by a nightmarish vision, a spot of corruption in paradise, slowly consuming and rotting away its beauty. 

Investigating the clearing a bit further, the Marine found a notebook and a small pencil lying on the grass. Probably belonged to the dead man. Putting them inside his back pocket, he looked at the dead soldier one more time, and moved on. 

The combat knife he carried proved useful, as it made quick work of the bushes with no problems. As he opened a path, the Marine could feel the scream of the dead soldier echoing through the trees in a haunting manner, as if the woodland was mocking him, marking him as its next victim. Ignoring all this, he had reached a fork in the dirt road next to an extensive ravine. He chose right, and moved along the track. 

He was sweating a lot, even during the sunset the heat was extreme in Asia, to the point it made the horizon shamble and melt. That climate was suffocating, almost strangling the Marine, he was already considering taking his shirt off at that point. He stopped for a while, to regain his breath, throwing his head back. 

Superimposed against the faint clouds, two silhouettes would fly in the sky, chasing each other in a playful manner. Their show was complete with spins, loops and corkscrews. Their childish laughs were audible even though they were a bit afar, which caught the Marine by surprise. Holding his helmet up to have a better view, he would stare at that sky ballet in complete disbelief. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing in front of him. Did he finally go insane? A mirage from that horrible climate? Desperation formed as he tried to find a rational answer to that event, but none of them sat well with him. The two child-like shadows moved in a way that reminded him of the dogfights he would normally witness back in Okinawa. He noticed wings coming out of the children’s back. One had three wings coming out from each side of her body, none of them connected to her skin, as if they were floating. 

As he tried to rationalize the bizarre display, sounds of foliage being moved down the ravine next to him broke his focus. He crouched behind a tree at the edge of the ravine.

Three soldiers were walking, two holding a rifle and the third, taking point in front of them, was holding a submachine gun. The patches on their sleeves showed they were part of the Marine Raiders, the best of the best in the Marine branch. They would inspect everything in detail, from the tree tops to the ground, every bush and rock formation, while holding their firearms ready to shoot anything out of the ordinary. They were calm and cold, doing exactly what they were trained to do. They were in control, for a moment. 

A faint feminine voice graciously echoed through the forest, which made the three stop. A headache made the Marine grunt. The three also felt something similar, as they were shaking their heads, trying to ignore it. Then darkness fell in the forest, surprising everyone, as if the night had eaten out the light. The Marine could only see a few feet in front of him. The other soldiers ignited flares, illuminating their confused faces. They were distressed now, throwing the flares to the ground while holding a tighter grip around the barrel and trigger of their guns. The Marine stood in silence, still hidden. A figure formed behind one of the soldiers. 

It jumped at the soldier, putting its hands on his face, gouging his eyes out while carving its teeth inside his throat in a vicious manner. Its fingers had such force that it opened large holes in his cheeks, the blood flowing down the soldier’s face. The man’s muffled screams startled the others, who witnessed him being pulled in the darkness outside the flare’s light, accompanied by a trail of blood left behind. The two shot the general area in hopes of hurting whatever that thing was. The Marine was shocked, he couldn’t make much of what got the other soldier, it was just too much blood. A question popped into his head, should he try to save them? His body shook with the indecision. The one holding the rifle attempted to reload his M1 in a desperate move, but all went dark again, this time not even the flare’s light could help. He dropped the rifle, his decapitated body stumbled into a pool of blood, like an old broken puppet; his muscles were still twitching, his finger pulling an invisible trigger. 

Now alone, the third man went into panic. At the verge of crying, he unloaded an entire magazine into the darkness in hopes of hitting something, his shouting and wheeping blanketing the gunshot echoes. Some of the shots came close to the Marine, who ducked down. He decided to help him as he took aim with the pistol in his right hand, even though he couldn’t see the iron sights well due to the darkness. In a sudden move, the killer appeared in front of the panickedsoldier. Both the Marine and the soldier froze, and, for a second, the whole world froze along in a deadly silence. 

That small figure stood with its arms posed as if it was in a crucifix. The red, pulsating light of the flare faintly illuminated its blonde hair and the red hairband decorating it. Then, faster than a blink of an eye, ran towards the soldier. The Marine was ready to shoot it, but something in his mind kept telling him to not. Before he could pull the trigger, the soldier unloaded a whole Thompson magazine on the figure, making it stumble back and fall against the dirty ground. It seemed dead for a second, the Marine was ready to let out a sigh, but the small girl-like figure, with that now bloody and dirty blond hair, stood up again, as if nothing happened. She appeared to smile for the man, making him step backwards in despair, as he realized there was nothing he could do to change his fate. She darted against his chest, making him fall on the ground, and pulled him by his feet to the darkness. The man screamed in horror as he disappeared into the void, carving his fingers on the dirt as his last, panic induced resort to not be taken away. He carved them so deep, he left large trails behind on the ground, but his protests were in vain. As he vanished out of the flare’s reach, his screams turned into gurgling noises, as if he was choking on his own blood. Then the protests stopped, and the silence returned to the forest, as if nature had removed it’s spotlight from the scene. The darkness was gone, the warmth of the sunset had returned, the flare hissed one last time before it died. 

The Marine, in horror, stumbled back from the tree and ran, without ever thinking about stopping.


End file.
